


Forgiveness

by Lyrial



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Tag, Episode: s10e14 The Executioner's Song, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrial/pseuds/Lyrial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And then you’d kill the angel, Castiel. Now that one, that I suspect would hurt something awful.”</p>
<p>Dean’s in a bad place the night after he deals with Cain. Thankfully, Castiel comes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness

“Cas,” Sam says quietly, heartbreak clear in his eyes. “Dean’s in trouble.”

 

\---

 

The Mark is burning on Dean’s arm.

Not painful, but a slow, pleasurable burn, pulsing to the beat of his heart. The steady rush of power through him, a high he could ride forever. It’s better than anything he could ever imagine. Like this, Dean is all-powerful, invincible. Nothing can stand up to him. He could do anything. The First Blade is warm in his hand, and it feels so _right_.

Dean inhales slowly. There is a sharp, strong tang of something coppery in the air. He breathes in more deeply, luxuriating in that heady scent. Someone is laughing, high and chilling, hair-raisingly maniacal.

With a start, Dean realizes that it is him.

His fingers are wrapped around the hilt of the First Blade, sticky with blood. There is a sickening dropping sensation in his stomach, of the world falling out from beneath him, as his eyes follow the outline of the Blade down to where it is half-buried in Castiel’s chest.

Cas is gasping feebly, his mouth open in an ‘O’ of surprise. His eyes are wide and betrayed as he stares at Dean. As Dean watches, a line of bloody froth trickles from his mouth. His parted lips are stained a shocking red by the blood.

No, this can’t be happening.

Cas slumps forward, falling against Dean. Dean’s hand jerks and the Blade comes free of Castiel’s flesh with a sick, slick sound of wetness. It falls from Dean’s numb fingers and hits the floor with a clatter.

Cas is dead weight in his arms. Dean’s fingers scrabble uselessly against Castiel’s trench coat, the stiff, bloodstained fabric bunching up in his hands. Dean’s brain is blanking out. A dizzying, overwhelming feeling of horror overtakes him.

“No,” Dean says, “No, no, no, no, no-”

Cas is a crushing, heavy weight. Dean struggles to keep Cas from slipping out of his arms but he is so goddamned _weak_ , all the strength gone out of his body. Dean falls to the floor, taking Cas with him. His knees hit the ground with a thump and Castiel’s head knocks hard into Dean’s chest. Dean’s breath catches at the impact, not because of the pain in his knees, sharp as it is, but from the thought that he has hurt Cas yet again.

Useless. He’s so fucking useless. Dean wants to stab himself.

Tenderly, with the utmost care, Dean arranges Cas so that the angel is lying across his lap, uncaring of the blood seeping into his clothes.

The look of wide-eyed shock has faded from Castiel’s face. Instead, the angel just looks at him dully through half-lidded eyes. There is something horribly accusing about that pain-filled gaze.

Desperation fills Dean’s voice as he says, “Cas, I didn’t mean to… I… I didn’t—” His vision blurs, tears seeping from his eyes. He lets out a half-gasp, half-sob. “Just talk to me. _Please_ —”

Cas coughs and blood bubbles out from between his lips. The sight of Cas’s familiar face, now twisted into strange, unfamiliar lines by agony, hits him like a bolt of searing pain.

“Cas,” Dean says softly. Almost subconsciously, he reaches out for Castiel. His fingers trace Cas’s face, lingering on the angel’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he says uselessly. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

But what good are his apologies now? It was Dean’s hand that guided the blade into Cas. It is entirely Dean’s fault that Cas is suffering. That Cas is dying. No amount of apologies can make up for the reality of what Dean has done.

Dean bows his head, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Then, he feels a light touch on his face. Castiel is looking up at him, and though his eyes are clouded with pain, his mouth is curved upwards in a weak smile.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he says, and the clear forgiveness in his eyes hurts a hundred times worse than any accusations ever could. Dean flinches away, but he stills when Castiel’s hand comes up to brush against his cheek. Castiel’s shaking fingers leave smudges of red on Dean’s skin as they trail across his face.

Castiel’s smile is sad. Dean hates how tender it is, how wistful. Castiel shouldn’t be looking at him like that, like he’s something infinitely precious that Castiel cannot bear to lose.

In a barely audible rasp, Castiel says, “I forgive you.”

Dean feels it like a stab to his heart. He could bear Castiel’s hate, withstand any amount of fury. Castiel could scream at him, spit at him, call him a monster. It’s only what Dean deserves. Anything but this. This is the worst thing, the absolute worst thing Castiel could ever do.

“No,” he says, “No, Cas—”

Dean clutches at him desperately, feeling like everything good in his life is vanishing with each ever-weakening beat of Castiel’s heart.

There are so many things he still wants to do with Cas, so many things Dean wants to say to him, and Dean wonders if it will somehow make a difference if he finally says it out loud, gives voice to the unspoken bond that has always stretched between the two of them.

If he tells Cas, “I need you, no _— I love you_. Please, just _stay_ —”

But Cas’s eyes are already closing. His fingers slip from Dean’s face. His chest is still, his blue eyes glassy, and Dean realizes that Cain was right.

Cas is dead and it hurts, worse than anything Dean could ever imagine. It hurts so damn much. It feels like a hole has been ripped into him, a gaping absence where there was once warmth and light.

Dean has done the unforgivable. There is no turning back.

When Dean slides the blade home in between Sam’s ribs, he feels it– even the overwhelming heartbreak cannot completely eclipse it— the sense of bitter satisfaction that it's finally over, he's finally complete. Everything he has ever loved is gone now, dead at his hand, and he’s so broken, he doesn’t even feel a thing.

He blinks and darkness floods his eyes.

Dean wakes up screaming.

 

\---

 

An hour later and the Mark is still throbbing, burning like a red-hot brand on his skin.

A bottle of half-finished whiskey sits by his bed, but Dean isn’t inclined to drink anymore. Nowadays, alcohol only does more harm than good. It doesn’t even dull the pain, and it won’t do to bust up his liver too bad, not when dying of liver failure means he’ll just pop back up as a demon again. The thought is almost enough to make him let out a bark of bitter laughter.

The first thing Dean had done after waking up was drag himself to the toilet and start throwing up. He had emptied everything in his stomach until he was shaking, nothing left but dry heaves. When he finally managed to get himself under control, he stumbled to Sam’s room. The sight of his brother, snoring loudly, long limbs tangled up in his blankets, had eased some of the fear pounding in his heart, but it hadn’t been enough. Not even near enough.

Try as he might, Dean can’t forget the image of Castiel’s pale face, twisted in agony, his desperate, rattling breaths as he struggled to stay alive.

The pain returns, like a knife, cutting straight through him, so intense it takes away his breath. Dean keeps telling himself it’s not real, it’s nothing but a nightmare, but every time he closes his eyes, Cas is right back there, staring at him with those dead, accusing eyes.

Castiel had died, and Dean was the one who had killed him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t intended to. The Mark had made him do it, and Dean couldn’t stop it. When Dean looks down at his shaking hands, he almost expects to see red still staining them. Deep down, he knows- that dream is as good as true. Cain was right. The Mark is turning him into a monster, and he can’t do anything to stop it. Everyone he loves is going to die, and he’s going to be the one who kills them.

Dean lets out a shaky, gasping breath and tries to swallow down the sobs threatening to choke him. He’s going out of his mind thinking about Cas, the way he died, and worst of all—the look in his eyes as he _forgave_ Dean.

There are a lot of things Dean wants. The Mark gone, life back to the way it was, when things were simple, clear cut Good and Evil, capital letters and all, but most of all, what he wants now is _Cas_. Cas, safe and alive.

But Cas isn’t here now. Why would he be? He probably left the Bunker when Dean was asleep. He’s never been the sticking around type, Dean knows. He’s probably got loads more important things to do than to stay here and look after a needy, pathetic almost-demon.

Dean wants to see Cas so bad. He wants to touch Cas, reassure himself that Cas is whole and alive, but he can’t let Cas see him like this, breaking down like a child over a freaking nightmare. He doesn’t go running to Cas every time he has a bad dream, and this time isn’t going to be any different. Cas has enough on his plate for Dean to be troubling him with something stupid like this.

But his thoughts linger on Cas, and in a moment of weakness, Dean drops onto his knees in front of his bed, resting his clasped hands on the sheets. Bowing his head, he takes a deep breath and begins to pray.

“Cas…” he says, and his voice shakes, “Could you… could you…” but then his nerve breaks, and Dean is unable to continue.

What the hell does he think he is doing? What will seeing Cas even accomplish? What’s he gonna say? I’m sorry, Cas, for murdering you in a dream? I’m feeling really bad about killing dream-you, so could you please find it in your heart to forgive me?

It’s so fucking pathetic. Dean dashes a hand angrily at the tears on his face, breathing hard.

But he stills at the creak of his bedroom door opening. A shaft of light spills in from the corridor, making Dean blink against the sudden light. When his vision refocuses, he realizes with a start that Castiel is standing there in the doorway, silhouetted against that light.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says softly, “May I come in?”

Dean nods dumbly. He’s too shocked to even get to his feet, and vaguely, he wonders if he is somehow dreaming again. He just stares blankly at Cas as the angel comes to a stop in front of him and squats down so he is at Dean’s level. The only thing Dean can think is: _How?_

Castiel must have read the question on his face. “I came because you needed me,” he says simply.

Dean is still too floored to do much other than blurt out, “But I didn’t finish my prayer.”

“There wasn’t necessary,” Cas says, “When you were dreaming, your emotions were heightened, and I could feel your longing. Your… need.” There is a small, rueful smile on his face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back here sooner. I came as fast as I could, but well—” Castiel stops, his smile turning sad, “I can’t ‘zap around’ anymore these days. As it is, I’ve probably broken every speed limit known to man. And maybe some more besides.”

He chuckles, smiling at Dean in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

Dean feels his kindness like a knife. “You don’t need to apologize, Cas. Hell, you didn’t even need to come.” Grimacing, he looks away. “It’s just a stupid nightmare—”

“But I wanted to,” Cas says softly, grabbing Dean by the hand. He looks into Dean’s eyes, and the gentle warmth in his gaze is the last straw for Dean. Tears fill his eyes, and it’s like a dam has broken and all Dean’s fears come bursting out of him.

“You died,” Dean gasps, “I killed you. You were _dead.”_ He takes a huge, gasping breath. “Cas, I’m- I’m sorry—”

The sobs burst out of him, and try as he might, Dean cannot stop. Shame fills him.

Then Cas is grabbing him into a hug and Dean cannot help but melt into his embrace. It feels so good. Cas rubs soothing circles into the small of Dean’s back as he murmurs that it’s okay, that everything’s going to be alright, a constant stream of the same old meaningless bullshit platitudes that Dean usually hates to hear. Yet somehow some of the ache in Dean’s chest eases and he finds himself breathing easier.

Dean pulls back so that he can look into Castiel’s face.

“Cain was right, Cas,” he says quietly, “The Mark—it’s turning me into a monster again, and I can’t fight it, I can’t, I’m too—” his voice breaks shamefully _,_ “ _—weak_.”

Cas gives him a look of incredulity.

His tone is resolute and matter of fact as he says, “Dean, you are one of the best men I know, and possibly, will ever know. Over all these years, you’ve taught me more about kindness and bravery and sacrifice than I could ever have imagined. You’ve been through so much, suffered so much and yet, at the end of the day, you still continue fighting to save the lives of strangers. You do all this without asking for thanks or repayment.

“The problem with you, Dean, is not that you love too less… but that you love so deeply and so selflessly that you sometimes forget to love yourself.”

Dean swallows hard, blinking away tears.

Castiel’s gaze is piercing as he stares straight into Dean’s eyes. There is utter conviction in his voice as he says, “Dean, you are _not_ weak. Don’t _ever_ say that about yourself. You are stronger than you think, and you will beat this.”

Dean shakes his head mutely, looking down, but he is forced to meet Castiel’s gaze again when he finds his chin being tugged up by gentle fingers. “You won’t be fighting this alone, Dean. Sam and I will be with you every step of the way.”

Cas smiles, warm and kind. “I want you to know that I’ll come for you whenever you need me. If you want me to, I’ll stay.” The look in his eyes is heavy with meaning. “All you need to do is ask.”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat. Impulsively, he leans down and captures Castiel’s mouth in a kiss that’s fueled in part by desperation and in part by the surge of warmth in his chest. Castiel startles at first, going stiff, but barely a second passes before he is kissing back, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair as he deepens the kiss.

When they finally break for air, Dean licks his lips. Grinning crookedly, he says, “That was me asking, Cas.”

Castiel laughs and his smile is like warm sunlight on a cold winter’s day. He takes Dean’s hands in his and pulls Dean up to his feet.

“And this is my answer,” Castiel says as he walks backwards towards the bed, leading Dean along with him.

Watching Dean carefully all the way, he slowly reaches for Dean’s shirt and Dean doesn’t move as he lifts it off, silent permission to continue. There is something strangely shy and tender about the way Castiel’s undresses Dean, almost worshipful, and Dean is equally gentle as he unbuttons Castiel’s dress shirt before moving on to his black slacks.

Cas pulls him towards him until their naked bodies are pressed, hot and flush, against each other and Dean can see his own want reflected in Castiel’s gaze and it fills him with a heady pleasure.

It’s rough and desperate at first, teeth and nails and bruising kisses, but Dean begins to relax under Castiel’s whispers of reassurance and gentle ministrations. They move against each other, slow and tender. Dean relishes in the feel of skin against skin, Castiel warm and beautiful beneath him. It’s the most tangible reminder he could ever get that Cas is still alive. Still with him. And when Cas kisses him, it feels like forgiveness.

 

\---

 

Afterwards, when they are once again respectably clothed, Dean reminds Cas about his promise to put Dean down if Dean ever went dark side.

Cas looks mulish and unhappy, brows creased and lips thin, but Dean pushes on. “You can’t let this- what’s happened between us… you can’t let it change anything.”

Dean hates to have to ask this of Cas. He knows exactly how much of a dick move it is, how much it’s gotta hurt Cas, but he needs the reassurance. He needs to know that Cas will do what needs to be done. That Cas will save Dean from himself, even if that means he has to kill Dean.

Castiel still looks extremely unhappy, but eventually he nods. “I will keep my promise… but only if you make me one in return.” He looks intently into Dean’s eyes. “Promise me that you’ll do your best to fight it. Promise me that you’ll remember that you have something to live for. That there are people who love you.”

That’s a promise Dean can live with.

“Alright,” Dean says, “I promise,” and then he is grabbing Cas and kissing him, long and hard.

He savors the warmth of Castiel’s lips, the pleasant, scratchy feel of his stubble against Dean’s skin. He takes his time kissing Cas, and by the time he finally breaks the kiss, he has already committed that moment to memory, carved it into the deepest recesses of his soul.

“Not that that wasn't really, uh... nice, but uh. What was that for?” Castiel says, two fingers rising up to touch his lips almost disbelievingly. He looks both thoroughly kissed and thoroughly bewildered. Dean is pleased to note that he still sounds slightly breathless. His hair is all rumpled again and his cheeks are flushed a most charming shade of pink.

Dean is smiling as he says, “Just something to remind me what I have to fight for.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains two of the things I suck most at writing: 1) angst and 2) sex. It probably shows. It was good writing practice though. Maybe next time I should try angsty sex. XD
> 
> Also, I keep having this niggling feeling I may have unwittingly plagiarized Castiel’s little affirmation speech from somewhere, maybe some other fic or meta I saw on tumblr. If so, please do tell me and accept my sincerest apologies. The problem with reading so much Destiel is that it all starts blurring into one huge (wonderful) clump.


End file.
